His Own Flesh And Blood Frigin' Daughter
by ThomE.Gemcity-06
Summary: This is part of my Daughter!Verse, but has no relation to my "Daughter of Mine" mini-series. Damien is just so f***ing tired, but he finds something to bring him back-his daughter. Mentions of Damien/(M)OC, there is alot of language in here so beware.


**a/n: This is part of my Daughter!Verse, but has nothing to do with the "Daughter of Mine" mini series. I hope you enjoy. Below is the real title, the one that you clicked on to get here is different because I wasn't sure if I could put Fuck in it.**

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><p><strong>His Own Flesh and Blood Fucking Daughter<strong>

The day was hot, but the cool breeze evened things out. After getting shot—again—Damien finally got a day off from Section 20, which meant no Colonel Grant, and no Stonebridge. He had found a cafe that he—reluctantly—admitted to himself that he was starting to get attached to. The food was fucking awesome, and the waitresses were hot—which didn't damper the appeal of the place.

Damien lounged in one of the chairs on the patio of the cafe, the umbrella atop his table blocking out the sun, his injured leg propped on the chair across from him. The glass in front of him was half empty, the cool liquid inside causing condensation to form on the outer side as the opposing forces of heat and cold fought. Usually, on a day like this, he would be in a Hotel room with one of the waitresses, fucking her into a sweaty, panting, moaning mess.

He actually quite preferred that, Damien was never one to miss a mind blowing fuck. But then again, he was usually the one that was a good fuck and the woman was just a prop for him to do with what he wished.

He leaned his head back, his eyes slipping closed as he tried to rub the soreness from his thigh, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. Sex would probably take his mind off it, and he knew that the waitress that had served his drink was also willing to serve him something else. But he didn't have the energy to coddle the woman, he knew that she would want attention too instead of just a fuck and he wasn't in the mood.

He sighed, who would have thought that he would ever have gotten sick of having the god given gift of sex? Definitely not him, and he had no idea what the fuck was wrong with him. Maybe he was sick of getting fucking _shot_ all the time, and it did seem like he was the only one who ever did—Stonebridge would get slugged a few times, maybe explosions would go off near him, but he never seemed to get shot like Damien always seemed to.

It was fucking the most unreasonable thing to have ever happened to him.

Fucking Section 20.

Fucking Colonel Grant.

Just a plain old "_Fuck_" . . .

He scrubbed a hand over his face as a shadow fell across him and he opened his eyes; not really wanting to deal with any kind of shit right now. But when he blinked open his eyes; he looked into one that was like an angel's. He opened his mouth as he stared at her, the cigarette from his mouth falling out onto his chest.

"_Suzanna_," in left his mouth like a breath and he straightened in his seat, clearing his throat.

The woman, Suzanna, smiled gentle at Damien, taking the seat that his leg had just recently vacated. She sat down delicately, elegant was more like it to Damien. Her dark of curls flowing over her bare shoulders, her hands folded neatly atop her skirted thighs. Damien stared at her, for once not knowing what to really say.

"Damien," Suzanna greeted him, her voice like music to the former soldier's ears.

It had been thirteen months since Damien had last seen Suzanna, but it felt as if it had been much longer than that.

Suzanna was the only woman that Damien had actually had an actual relationship with. He had known her since they were teenagers. She had been—was—his best friend, his confidante, someone he could confide in and received no judgement. When they grew older they form a relationship, deeper than just friends. That last time he had spoken with her, or made love to Suzanna was thirteen months ago—which was right before he ran for Section 20.

"Uh," he finally managed to get out, not able to take his eyes of her face. "What are you doing here?"

"Damien," she said, "You're flustered."

Damien forced himself not to blush, Suzanna seemed to be the only who has ever been able to do this to him. "Suze . . ."

"You're a hard man to find, Damien Scott." she said lightly, as to not make it a kind of accusation. "You ran off without a word," Damien could sense the slight hurt that resided in that comment, but Suzanna hid it well.

"Yeah," Damien rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "About that—"

"You weren't ready Damien, I know." Suzanna told him gently. "But I had very important news to tell you that night, and you ran off before I could tell you."

"Oh," was all that came out, washing him over with shame.

Suzanna gave him a small reassuring smile, she wasn't mad at him; she could never seem to really get mad at him.

"I know this is hard for you," Suzanna told him. "So I don't want to force anything on you."

"Force what on me?" Damien asked, leaning forward in his chair.

Suzanna looked over his shoulder, and belatedly taking the hint he looked over his shoulder as well. There was a young woman standing behind him—how had he not noticed that?—and in her arms was a blanketed bundle. She walked over to Damien and before he could make a move, she placed the bundle in his arms. Damien was frozen stiff, holding the bundle as if it were a bomb. He looked down at the bundle—baby, he corrected—before looking up at Suzanna with wide deer in the headlights eyes.

"What?" he said, panicked.

"Thirteen months ago, the thing that I wanted to tell you, was that I was pregnant . . . with your child." she clarified for him, trying to get through to his stupor.

"I—what?" he had unconsciously shifted the baby more comfortably into his arms. "How?"

"Damien," she shook her head, a humorous smile on her lips. "We had sex . . ."

"Yes," Damien agreed, spacing out his glances between Suzanna and the baby. "But . . ."

"But nothing, Damien." Suzanna told him. "I just wanted you to know; this is you daughter."

Damien stared down at the baby in his arms—his baby—it was just weird. Yes, he had played with the idea that he may eventually cut the shit and settle down, marry a girl and have a few of his bastard children. But now something like that had seemed so far away, yet it was right here and now—it was in his fucking arms for fucks sake. He stared down at the baby—his daughter—she was napping, her cheeks chubby and her eyes closed, a tuff of dark hair peeking out from under the blanket. He looked back at Suzanna, licking his suddenly dry lips.

When he had always played with the idea of settling down, it had been Suzanna that had always been at the back of his mind. When he had run, it wasn't because he didn't love Suzanna, but it was because he was scared of the love that he had never felt before, for anyone else. He didn't know why he had doubted it, why he had doubted Suzanna—but suddenly; it was as if all of his insecurities had flown out the window.

He had been so tired of everything, just plain tired and sick of every fucking little thing—he was even pissed about the fact that he was just so sick of everything that he wasn't in the mood for a fuck. But now, for some weird reason, he felt energized; like he could take on this shitty World and then some—maybe even the whole fucking universe. He was ready.

"My daughter," he said, not even realizing that he was saying it out loud, "Our fucking daughter."

He looked up to find Suzanna smiling at him, relief in her brown hues.

"What's her name?" he asked.

"Simone Scott." she told him softly, looking at him and their daughter fondly.

"Simone Scott," Damien repeated, a smile gracing his lips. "A beautiful name for a beautiful girl."

Damien lightly traced her chubby-cheek with the tip of his finger, and Simone's hand shot out and grasped it. His smile grew wider and he let out a laugh; Damien couldn't remember the last time he had ever felt this way—but he knew that he had only ever really felt this way when he had been with Suzanna.

"I can't believe that I actually have a fucking kid!" Damien said breathless.

Suzanna didn't scold him on his use of language in front of their daughter; she still said the same thing sometimes.

Damien looked at Suzanna, his ice-green eyes soft, god how she had missed him—and the sex.

Damien looked back down at his daughter, his own flesh and fucking blood. "Simone," he repeated; he could seem to get enough of it.

At the sound of her name, Simone's eyes popped open and she stared at Damien with wide eyes. Damien stared back at her, his own eyes the same size. He sucked in his breath as if he were seeing her for the first time; this was his fucking daughter . . . and damn if she didn't have his eyes.

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><p><strong>note: I hoped you liked this fic in my Daughter!Verse, and I remind you that this doesn't have a relationship with "Daughter of Mine" mini series other than the fact that they are both part of my Daughter!Verse. There may be a sequel to this.<strong>

**I hope that you review; I wanna know what you think of Father Damien.**

**By the way, if you were wondering how many FUCKs there were, and I counted for fun . . . there were 21 in totat. That's a record for me :)!**


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